The Tomorrow
by Pterobat
Summary: The more personal aspects to Exedore's life after the Rain of Death: discovery, loss, and an unusual dinner party. Based in the Robotech universe
1. Chapter 1

**The Tomorrow**

**Chapter 1**

Currently I am being...investigated. A large group of Micronians, educated in a wide variety of subjects, are helping me to understand this culture more directly and thoroughly, precisely explaining any abstractions.

Certain authorities were interested in my particular reactions to Micronian society, because they thought they would be more complex than the norm.

I was told it was inevitable that some of the people working with me would turn out to be female, as they list of qualified candidates was understandably low. My reply was that if that was what the situation called for, I would overcome my natural aversions. There was reason for any project to be disabled because of that.

In truth, the notion of having some Micronian females working directly with me, well, it was a trifle overwhelming in abstract. Still, I told myself that I would persevere.

Because of the project, I was often allowed to walk among the citizens of the yet-unfinished New Macross City, always followed by one of the Micronians studying me.

I am mostly pleased with how they are fulfilling their function: these were pragmatic people, able to see outside of themselves and follow a labyrinth of explanations and counter-explanations far past the original topic.

On that day I was with Miss Penny Mirman, who was a female member of the team, and I was handling that well. I wore the dignitary's uniform that had been given to me upon arrival at the SDF-1 to replace my Mirocnization jerkin, though as always it felt curiously light without the cowl around my neck.

What of the city was habitable was well-lit and had a good deal of people present, trying to live as if their future was secure. I recognized our own soldiers, and the Micronized females who had started to venture out. I was happy to see that their acclimatization was done.

Both Zentraedi and Micronian were staring at us as we entered the more populous parts of the zone. I never forgot that Mirman was there, able to volunteer information at any request, but I intended simply to observe for a few moments.

I then noticed two female Zentraedi who were on the part of the street segregated for walking. Like us, neither could pass for Micronian: Althine Calo had a malformed jawline, similar to what Rico has, and green skin, while Ninelva Thalia had light blue skin, but an otherwise Micronian-normal facial structure, though the scar that split the left side of her face and distorted her mouth might have concealed the fact.

Yet at that time, Ninelva's face was nearly hidden by a stack of small cargo objects she was carrying in her arms. Three of these objects were indented and paler around a respective three of their sides. I had never seen anything like them.

They were talking about something strange, and I could only make out that, "Well, it must have been extremely painful. When you compare the size of the head to the--"

Ninelva was the first to notice me. She cried, "Y-Your Excellency!" and then began an attempt to salute and balance her armful of goods, managing this after only a small amount of clumsiness. "Pardon us, Your Excellency! If we'd have only known--"

At the time, I wasn't thinking of protocol, and just asked them, "Excuse me, what are those that you have there?", trying to be overly polite to make the situation less awkward.

But when she tried to speak, Ninelva was interrupted by the sound of Althine laughing. Althine then snapped her head down and said, "You're really something, aren't you, Ninelva! Are you feeling frightened when the rank and file no longer applies?"

Ninelva glared at her. "It _does_ apply. Show some respect to the Minister!"

"You must have used up all your courage when we left." She turned back to me. "I don't know what they are; we just picked them from the vendor because they looked interesting. They said we should give it back after some time period." She snatched one from atop Ninelva's pile and opened it, using her fingers to run through the thinner, paler parts so that they blurred. "I'm guessing from the characters inside it's a primitive way of storing information."

Mirman remarked, "Those are books. You've been to the Mobile Library?"

"Who're you?" Ninelva looked at Mirman with something like suspicion.

"I am the emissary's aide. Part of my duty is to explain any aspects of human culture he finds himself unfamiliar with."

That made it sound like Mirman had more authority than she truly did, being only one part of a motley group. But Althine only grinned, and snapped the book shut. "Come on, Ninelva. I won't have you embarrassing us in front of the emissary." She slapped Ninelva on the shoulder, almost causing her to drop her things, before placing the book back atop the pile.

Still glaring at her, Ninelva followed Althine in the other direction, away from us, though she turned to look over her shoulder once.

"Obviously it's going to be difficult," Mirman muttered after a few moments had passed; I was uncertain what she referred to.

She then turned then to me, and said, "I guess your defectors never brought any books back with them," in a tone that wasn't questioning.

"No," I told her. "It's obvious that record-keeping would be put to non-military purposes here. How do you go about it?"

"Hm. If you don't mind my impertinence, Sir, would this be because of the personal interest you'd have in such matters?"

"Er...possibly." I didn't like answering such private questions, and had never even thought about the reason for my inquiry. It was just to get more information, that was all.

We walked, and she put forth an explanation to me that included several aspects beyond what I had just seen, covering the basic history of how Micronians authored and exchanged information.

At one point I interrupted her and asked, "That term, 'scholar', could you explain it to me?"

Now, Mirman's face is rarely expressive, but she seemed to smile with her voice. "You might like this. Or not, depending. Scholars are a specialized branch in most human cultures, devoted to the categorization, interpretation, and expression of knowledge, sometimes usually for the purposes of educating others, but they do it as much for its own sake as anything else. There are different levels and...scales of compensation, but this is what they are."

Still I found myself more drawn to this, er, that is, drawn to this in a different way than our previous encounters with Micronian culture. This struck me on a very different level than Minmei's song. It caused me to wonder for the first time what a different life might have been like, to pursue knowledge for its own sake, to expound upon it and rearrange it for my pleasure, not just when the outward situation called for it.

There was no need for her to explain the connection, the conclusion. She and the rest of her group had been briefed before meeting me for the first time, knew my function. I was always satisfied with using my knowledge only for the purpose of making war. I was never unhappy.Still...

Yet what was clear to me from that very moment was that I would never be able to share in such affairs. I was too valuable to the alliance, both currently, and in regards to whatever difficulties might arise in the future.

Mirman then led me to what was ironically nicknamed the Mobile Library, located on the outskirts of the city's habitable areas, and also near a current site of construction.

An old, dilapidated transport, permanently downed, it housed a group of Micronians working to make copies of the remains of the Earth's media culture, for distributing it more equally among the population and preserving it for future...generations.

All media materials had been forcibly but temporarily confiscated from every remaining Micronian of every rank, though I was told that some in charge of the Library were optimistic that there were other media remaining in underground facilities, untouched by the razing.

As we entered the transport, one of the archivists asked, "What is he doing here?"

"The ambassador just happens to be curious about this. We're not going to be here long, if it makes you feel any better."

"I thought they only liked pop music," another remarked from behind a stack of video media, then chuckled.

Mirman only made a small, disgusted noise, and walked away from them. "If you'd come this way, Sir, I can show you around the transport."

I decided to ignore the insolence of them both. Perhaps because they had the most scholarly connotations, I ended up mostly borrowing books from the Mobile Library, both digital-replacement copies and some authentic ones. I ended up returning them before the deadline, apparently extremely fast by their standards, especially because I didn't have much "leisure time" (a concept I was starting to like).

Mirman went on to tell me that even in peacetime, scholars were not viewed in a favourable light by the majority of the population, as desiccated or bloated creatures wasting their lives away from the "real" world (some layers of that definition had been explained to me earlier, in addition to how it related to fiction), who are weak when forced out of their enclosed lives. "In times of war, intellectualism becomes a luxury that we cannot afford," she said, quoting a commentary on an earlier Micronian war.

"And yet perhaps one of the reasons that we were drawn to you was because your people are allowed occupations tailored to the individual, regardless of what seems the most pragmatic."

"It's true." She also nodded to emphasize the point. "And perhaps in the future, some of your people will be able to discover that freedom...and the fear that goes along with it. Some humans would consider it a blessing to have a guaranteed future, even if it is just killing, or aiding in killing."

I did not feel any discomfort at her statement, and Mirman was apparently chosen for her ability to be direct. She also explained to me the idiom of the grass being greener.

Still, I was undeterred. Perhaps, Sir, such things as started the mass defections are a fundamental part of the sentient psyche, able only to be buried but never destroyed, even by the most sophisticated of makers. For surely it would explain the rapid turnaround of some of our people.

--

Upon a later visit to the Mobile Library, I noticed a full-sized Zentraedi warrior wandering about in the distance, wearing only a purple jumpsuit.

"He's walking strangely," Mirman observed, with me once again.

Another Zentraedi soldier came into the scene as I was talking to Mirman, walking straighter. He seemed to be getting into an altercation with the first one, who was waving his arms and pointing in our direction.

Mirman said, in a low voice, "Perhaps we should leave, Sir."

But they were already leaving themselves, disappearing into the monotonous landscape. My attention was distracted by someone shouting, "Your Excellency!" and it took me a moment to register that fact; very strange.

I saw Althine and Ninelva again, loitering at the perimeter of the construction site. Ninelva was the one who'd called to me this time, and she even jogged over, which made me uncomfortable.

It was doubled when Althine followed, though at a slower pace. But I asked Ninelva what she was doing there. Her reply was, "I wanted to see how they rebuilt their things. Look at the size of those machines! Uh, I mean, in comparison to _them_, not us. It's weird."

Althine only said, "It looks like you've found your own appeal in Micronian culture," clearly looking at the books under my arm.

"Uh, yes. But this is only a temporary engagement. I am still very much needed in my duties as emissary."

"I guess there's more to this culture than Minmei, though I never knew what the males saw in her."

Before I could reply, there was a great commotion within the construction zone. Micronians began shouting, there was a tremendous clash of metal, and one of those long-necked construction machines crashed down near to where we stood. I only had a brief glimpse of the debris kicked up by the impact, as I'd dropped instinctively to the ground and covered my head.

A voice like the growl of a distant explosion then erupted above me.

"Your Excellency! Fraternizing with females, now? We live in an ugly world, don't we?"

I heard Mirman utter a curse, and got up myself.

The male from the outskirts was standing over me; he was Cernus Formo. I'd explained to the Micronians about secondary names and the cloned lines which shared no connection but the similar appearance, nothing like what they would make of it. But I'm sure that many of them would still read some kind of twisted fate into what happened next.

Cernus' comrade, Epimet Arus, who to them would have only resembled a black-haired, light-skinned Micronian, walked up to Cernus and put a hand on his shoulder. "You're picking on a Micronized noncombatant, Cernus. Why don't you _not_ try to act like a coward for once?"

Epimet seemed to be joking, but Cernus shook off his hand. "Shut up! It's _his_ fault that I had to run! That I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing!"

"You would be dead, that's what you'd be doing!"

"What are you talking about!" Althine shouted up at them, somehow the loudness not breaking her stoicism.

The three of them all began to argue. I looked behind me and saw that by this time, several of the citizens had gathered behind us and were talking in a low murmur, though there were much louder military personnel trying to make sure they stayed a safe distance away.

"Stay out of this!" Cernus finally roared at Althine. He put a hand to his face. "I hate it here! We're not meant for this!"

He began to struggle with his Epimet, who was first laughing, then trying to hold him back in earnest as Cernus became wilder. Several of the Micronians behind us screamed, and Mirman or someone else grabbed the sleeve of my uniform to pull me back. I do not know why I couldn't make that move myself.

My feet skidded in the sand, legs weak, and then Cernus was twisting free of Epimet and stooping down for me, his fingers the size of my body. But blood suddenly began to spurt from them, as the sound of a small gun rang in my ears. I looked back and saw that Mirman was the one firing on him, most of the shots going wild; likely she was unused to the weapon.

"You!" screamed Ninelva, presumably at Cernus. "What do you think you're doing!"

He grunted, and moved towards her, ignoring his bleeding hand, which the bullets had not done much damage to. "Females, stay out of this! You were only--" He staggered, feet thundering, and Mirman pulled me back harder, all they way into the crowd of Micronians, who had overcome their curiosity and were also fleeing.

But we hadn't ran far before others began to stop to look back, and I did the same. The reason was that Cernus seemed just to be weaving in tight circles, bringing no danger to the Mobile Library transport. He was chasing after Ninelva now, seeming to ignore Althine, who made no move to interfere. For the first time it occurred to me that Cernus might be drunk instead of simply confused.

Ninelva then ran towards the construction site, but ducked down and came back up with a long piece of metallic debris. She hurled it expertly, impaling Cernus's cheek near the eye. He screamed, holding both hands to the wound, and Epimet was finally able to lead him away, with a salute and an apologetic smile. I do not know where they are now.

The Micronian male in charge of the Mobile Library found Mirman and I. "I think you should go now," he said, before I could react. He pointed in the direction of Althine and Ninelva. "And take those..._women_ with you, too."

"That is stupid!" cried Althine. She covered the distance between us very fast, shoving Mirman aside to get to the male. "Cernus was the one who was acting like a fool!"

Mirman stepped up to Althine, who was almost a head taller than she was. There was a pause, before Mirman began shouting, heedless of the differences between them. "Do you believe that all this can be overcome within a few months? That beings cloned and conditioned for war can adapt to an unfamiliar civilian life without trouble? Do you believe that fear against Zentraedi is not justified? You should be lucky there are better examples out there!"

Without changing expression, Althine lunged and grabbed Mirman's wrist, turning her around and pulling the smaller female close to her chest. "Micronian wretch!" she growled, but the end was cut off, as she twisted Mirman's arm hard enough to make it break, before pushing her roughly to the ground.

Mirman didn't get up from where she had fallen, was instead screaming continuously, her legs scratching in the dirt. Several more from the Mobile Library rushed up and tried to restrain Althine. Ninelva shouted and darted to get between her and the men, bringing several down with a sharp elbow to their stomachs.

"This woman needs medical attention!" shouted one of the civilians over the commotion, one of the many who'd come to surround the writhing Mirman.

A soldier was soon with me. "You'd better come with us, Sir; things stand to get messy here. Sir?"

I only reacted the second time he addressed me. "Oh, er, yes," I said.

It was startling to me. I am never unaware that I have much to learn about the finer points of Micronian emotions, but this was particularly unsettling.

He took me in a jeep, saying, "Your aide will be going to the infirmary, and we should have no trouble detaining the Zentraedi women."

I only nodded, for once unable to find words.

After I was returned to New Macross City I was advised that I should stay within its boundaries as much as possible, be escorted when I couldn't, and anything I expressed interest in would be brought to me. Several Micronians admitted they been incorrect to assume that there was no potential risk to me from my own people.

It...hurt to renege on my previous optimistic predictions. Not only because I was becoming more invested in this change, but because I had _let_ that investment unbalance me, temporarily blind me to the complexities inherent in our situation. I should not have done that.

Milord, I think this is the beginning of something much darker.

--

I continue to ask for information on a wide variety of topics, and to exchange books with the Mobile Library, this time through a proxy. I have turned my attention to the subjects Micronians call "Psychology" and "Philosophy", studies of the mind and cultural ethics, their possibilities, and speak with my observers accordingly.

It seems that their people have wrestled with similar questions of destiny and free will throughout the centuries and none had reached a satisfactory conclusion. Perhaps they never would, due to the complicated reactions and opinions.

I told myself that I ought to just be satisfied with the idea that some Zentraedi would adjust, and some would not and have to be dealt with. But there was a disquieting sense about the whole thing; we were a people, a collective, the last of our race. If a large number of us posed a threat, then what were the "good ones" to do?

"Good ones".

Mirman was still under confinement for having a concealed weapon on her, though she had gotten medical treatment and might not be removed from the program if she showed penitence. I sent my sympathies, but not without hidden reservations. After the incident I have begun looking at her differently.

--

"Toys of destruction." How else to describe beings with such a singular purpose, working at the whims and behests of others, mere objects to be discarded when their purpose has been served, as Micronian children outgrow their own playthings? And taken out of our natural role, we could perhaps not become more than toys.

Such thoughts have begun recurring as these uprisings continue. I realize now...that I may want us to have this new life, not just because we have nowhere else to go or because it provides us with new playthings, but because we may somehow need it to be actualized creatures. Madness to contemplate, when we'd gotten on so well before.

And part of me cannot quite believe in the sense of futility inspired by these events. Whatever happens, I will not forsake my own role, nor my books, and I know that all of us who desire peace will continue to put up a strong front.

And with the research into the relationship between Micronians, Zentraedi, and Protoculture quickening its pace, I have little time for brooding.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Tomorrow**

**Chapter 2**

Naturally there has been much rejoicing at the death of Khyron; it was the end of a major threat, and of a man whom history might prove to have been an anachronism. Yet Khyron also welcomed disgruntled Zentraedi females into his ranks for de-Micronization and is said to have combined more than his forces with Azonia, if the Lynns' report can be believed (and I do believe it). What am I to make of that?

And with them Khyron and Azonia took most of the Fortresses and their crews: Captain Gloval, Claudia Grant, and the three females that Rico, Bron, and Konda had grown so attached to.

I told the humans that I would prefer not to describe my feelings on the matter in detail, for nothing simple could come of them. I shared in their joy, but also felt lost again.

This latter sensation was doubled by the fact that I was not sure how to approach this custom of a funeral, the veneration of people who would no longer be of any practical use, whom you could never interact with again.

I listened respectfully, wanted to come out of perhaps more than duty, but was not truly sure what I felt for those in whose names this ceremony was being conducted. They had been my comrades for such a brief time, but were in their own way each instrumental in forming this new life.

I was only sure that I had grown to despise Khyron on an entirely new level. If you can love someone after they die, apparently you can also hate them.

Rico, Bron, and Konda had been allowed to attend. I had even less of a notion of how to react to Konda tugging on my sleeve and sobbing, "Your Excellency, Your Excellency", over and over again, until he was led to elsewhere in the room. Had he expected me to somehow solve his problems?

Miriya and Sterling were also there, and several times I noticed Miriya looking over her shoulder at me, an expression which I was sure was not what I thought it was. Concern? From a female? Surely it couldn't be so, I thought.

But when the ceremony was finished and they were all dispersing, she called after me, "Please, Sir, I'd just like to talk with you."

I stopped walking, turning as she caught up with me, refusing to run. Instead I only remarked, "Oh, er, well, this is highly irregular."

She stopped a decent distance from me and smiled. "A lot of things are these days, Sir." She paused, swallowed. "You once spoke of 'toys for destruction', Sir, and I've been made familiar with toys. You can turn them to any desired purpose, completely different from what their creators intended. If you could do that with an object, what about a living, thinking being?"

She talked fast, as if trying to make up for something. "Er, yes. The truth is, that I'm far from ready to give up on these events. I am simply feeling...disoriented."

"You're not responsible for what our people have done. Not even if you were a commander. They've been given the choice and couldn't have been forced to take it."

"...Why is this important to you?"

She walked closer, invading my personal space, and looked shocked. "_Because_, Sir...and I know it's foolish, and I know that we barely know each other, and we're of different genders, but I want there to be friendship among the Zentraedi who were so important to this revolution; you and me and Rico and Bron and Konda..." She trailed off, looking rather embarrassed.

"Well, er, clearly your life with the Micronians has changed you."

She smiled at me, which I found disquieting. "Maybe I just...want to live up to those female Micronian ideals. But I'm still the same person in many ways. And what about you, Sir? I heard you've found something about the Micronian culture to interest you."

There was no way she could not have known, with my deeds constantly reported in the media. Still, I felt flustered at her knowledge. "Oh, ah, well..."

"Don't be embarrassed. I'd imagined that you would be happier with a pile of books than a Minmei concert anyway."

"What?"

Miriya then paused for a moment, not answering, looking as if she was considering something. "Of course you can say no, but I was wondering if you'd like to come to our house, tomorrow night, just for an hour or so."

Instead of blanching, my immediate reply was, "You, ah, aren't going to show your offspring again, are you? My apologies, but the sight still makes me nervous."

Instead of being affronted, Miriya's only response was to smile wider. "Dana will be in bed by the time you get there."

Now she walked away from me, over to the huddled Rico, Bron, and Konda, as if long years of conditioning were not in place to deter her.

--

And I had my reservations, but I came to the Sterlings', wearing civilian clothes instead of my uniform.

I had asked the people working with me to make sure I never took anything garish, and went to my visit went to my visit in a purple thing called a "turtleneck sweater", which replicated the familiar press of the cowl around my neck, along with black pants and brown shoes. The overall effect was not unlike my Zentraedi uniform; I did not know why I preferred such a homage, but it seemed to crop up often in my civilian clothing choices.

An escort came with me, two armed Micronians who drove me to the Sterlings' house, telling me to call them when I was finished.

Max Sterling was the one to answer the door. "Hi there. Sorry, we're a little behind here." He gestured to the cloth he was wearing, which had the names of the couple printed on it.

"Oh, it's perfectly fine. I do not require anything."

"Don't you, um, want something to drink? When they moved us, they gave us a fully stocked cabinet."

"No, thank you. Just water, if you must." I really did not want intoxicants; they are an unnecessary distraction.

"Okay, well, come on in."

Sterling went deeper into his dwelling and I followed.

"Here, have a seat." He pointed to a pair of small couches, a table between them. Miriya sat at one, and I took the opposite. My temperature shot up again as I remembered what I was doing, but I managed to keep my dignity and sit down.

Such feelings came and went, and, with sympathy to yours, I've begun to wonder how "natural" they truly are. Certainly, this Micronian world didn't break down with males and females interacting regularly, and I had not avoided coming to the Sterlings'.

Miriya said, "It feels awkward to me, but I can't bring myself to address you by your name, Sir."

"I don't think there should be anything problematic about not following Micronian protocol." I remembered to smile.

She returned the expression, though also tensed. "Yes, there is that."

I suddenly wondered if we Zentraedi rarely used our secondary names because it reminded us of biological reproduction, some dead memory that we'd learned to hate. Did Miriya still feel that same twinge at using the secondary name, though she was now familiar with reproduction? But I did not think it would have been pertinent to ask.

Sterling then walked in and passed me my water, apologizing for talking that amount of time, because he still had a lot to do.

I thanked him, but just as I was about to take a sip, the doorbell rang. I quickly guessed whom it might have been, and was proven correct.

Rico, Bron, and Konda filed into the room. They were all greeted by Sterling again, but refused to lift their heads when addressing him. None of the three saluted reflexively when they came into the main room, as they always had before when seeing me, even if it was at a distance.

They stood between the couches, unmoving, until Sterling, with a muffled curse, ran deeper into the house, and returned with several chairs. He set them between the couches before running back away with an apology.

Miriya chuckled. "I'm sorry, everyone, but I can't seem to live up to certain other Micronian female ideals. Max has to undertake all the cooking himself."

"Well, you do know," I said, "that such ideals are extremely complex, changeable, and often don't match up to reality. So it would be a minor problem for anyone."

The trio didn't respond at all. Miriya coughed. "Thank you, Sir," she added.

I was suddenly curious about where the three ex-spies were now, and inquired. I noticed that Rico had taken to wearing glasses, which were likely false.

He adjusted them now, and said, "We're, uh, trying to find civilian jobs. It's easier because we look like ordinary--uh, sorry, what I mean--"

"It's harder than we thought," added Konda, before blowing his nose.

"Well, you've a long time to prove yourselves." I wondered why I should care about their success, but the confusion was of no consequence.

"Oh, we hope so, Your Excellency!" Bron added, his reddened eyes widening. "It'd be great if we could just, you know, start over." He slumped back to the chair.

"Ah, very...nice." I was still confused. But I guessed Miriya thought it would be helpful to all of us, to focus on our differing lives. But I wouldn't volunteer mine unless asked, for that direction was already obvious.

I thought back to my earlier attempt to placate Miriya, another inexplicable action. Perhaps that entire history of issues Micronians have around their genders, for they do have many, some far more profound than ours, is proof that conditioning can be overcome.

Here the five of us were, at a stage unprecedented for any Zentraedi of whatever rank or gender, yet we were getting along far better than any of us might have thought. A small amount of squeamishness was nothing compared to the blistering disgust we were all supposed to be feeling.

Sterling joined us, sitting close to his mate and putting his arm around her shoulders. It did not pass unnoticed, but I coped.

"Maybe you need to learn to lighten up, Exedore?" asked Sterling, smiling.

Suddenly I was annoyed. "My personality is _fine_, thank you, Sterling."

"No, no, no." Sterling put down his glass. "It's just like what Miriya said; just because you're the emissary, you don't have to feel like you're responsible for your people's conduct. I mean, you're really not, are you? They did what they do, and we try our best to stop them."

"My feelings on this matter are...inexplicable. I have had the same thoughts you've just stated; there is no reason why I should be feeling...unbalanced by the fact of conflict between what we were created to be and what we are becoming. Such things are to be expected."

Sterling picked up his drink, swirled it. "The trick is to balance it. You can be worried about what your people are doing, but keep doing what _you _want, and know that you're doing everything you could.

"The truth is that even with all the freedom we have, there are days when nobody knows what's going on, so you might as well just do what you feel needs to be done and not worry too much about the rest."

"Yeah, it's just like when we thought we were going to be executed for bringing culture into the fleet," added Rico, facing Sterling and not me. "We did it anyway." He echoed the statement to himself in a lower voice.

Rico, Bron, and Konda then turned in unison and glanced apprehensively over at me. Bron suddenly started laughing but with clear nervousness, and the same falsity with which he'd before expressed enthusiasm.

It did not entirely make sense: believing one had no complete idea of how much or how little control they had over things, and so simply doing what made sense in that moment. Was this how we were to conduct ourselves on this? Strike when struck, avoid worrying about if our Micronian-friendly members would betray, even with Khyron gone? Even if there few of us one could call trusted, and even then not completely?

Yet what else? Did I feel embarrassed, even fearful, of a situation where my intellect couldn't cover all possibilities? I decided I would not discredit my lifeblood like that. My mind was not so delicate.

"Oh, and Exedore?"

I moved quickly out of my thoughts. "Yes?"

"You can call me Max, if you want."

--

I was no full convert, but as the evening wore on I found myself feeling much lighter. I ate little of the Sterlings' dinner, both from inclination, and a lingering aversion to "natural" food, though the trio seemed to enjoy it, as did Miriya. I heard more about the trio's attempts at finding civilian work, and the lives of their female companions, and was surprised at how determined they were, how much they wanted, even in their foreign grief, to continue with a civilian life.

They were not unquiet about their failures, either, and in response to them, Max said, "You know, the reason you guys keep losing your jobs might just be that you have to be a little bit more mature about them. Why don't you come by sometime and I'll help you out?"

The trio perked up instantly, offering their thanks.

The six of us ended up raising our glasses in the custom of a toast, to the people who had died. Mine was the last, raised up confusingly, but I did it nonetheless.

Miriya offered to walk me back to where I was being quartered, instead of my calling for the escort. I thanked both the Sterlings for their hospitality, and did not turn down her offer.

Conditioning; what a strange procedure. We had thought so many aspects of our culture were immutable, yet just a scant few years, they--_I_ found a new life and had pursued it.

There didn't seem to be anything left for us to discuss, so it was surprising when Miriya said, "I should have told you before; I wasn't the perfect assimilator everyone thinks I am."

"Oh? And why are you telling me this?" I wasn't resentful, though I had expected to be left alone to contemplate these new experiences.

She smirked. "I'm feeling adventurous. But even after that wonderful spark of a moment, I was afraid. The world of Micronian women turned out to be especially alien. That I grew to accept and enjoy it doesn't change that.

"But I knew that I could not be fearful. I clung to that conviction that I wanted not only Max, but this whole world. You see, it's like this all over. For all of us."

We were close now to where I was quartered. A guard for the sector snorted and looked up from his post; he might have been dozing.

"Good-bye, Sir."

"Er, yes, good-bye. I would say, you are, ah, making excellent progress on this notion of friendship."

"I could say the same thing to you, Sir."

I stood there in confusion for a moment; I had done little in comparison to what she had, offering nothing but my presence. "The visit was not unpleasant, Miriya." The direct address hung in the air between us. "I did...enjoy it, and I...thank you."

I wasn't prepared for her reaching into our personal space and taking my hand, shaking it vigorously, and then drawing away as if it was coated in corrosives.

"Thank you too, Sir."

I was still unsure of what she meant. But I made myself smile at her, and we parted ways. I felt a bit shaken, but I did not regret the procedure. I truly did enjoy it, and believe there will be a future there.

**The End**


End file.
